


Ars Longa, Vita Brevis

by Aisu, Austell, HybridKylin



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Child Neglect, Gen, Narrator Chara, everyone's going to be here, not just a straight cyberpunk retelling i promise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-07-11 08:19:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7040539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aisu/pseuds/Aisu, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Austell/pseuds/Austell, https://archiveofourown.org/users/HybridKylin/pseuds/HybridKylin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say that with the right equipment, there's a place you can go where you can see the sky. A place where it's safe. A place where it's quiet. A place where you can be the person you always wanted to be. Sure, it's not real - but has that ever mattered?</p><p>And so, with an unexpected companion running in their new implants, and with a new world to explore, Frisk tries to find a home.</p><p>Cyberpunk/virtual reality AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so, so much to Midtime and Lint, who have helped to craft this AU - it wouldn't exist without them. Thanks to them also for helping me beta read this nonsense as I write it.
> 
> A warning: this series, as it progresses, will contain themes of unreality, emotional abuse, and child neglect.

They keep feeling the little port with a finger on the walk to the library. They know they’re not supposed to, know that it’s meant to have time to heal, but their finger keeps going back to it as if it were an out of place scab, running around the raised metal edges. It’s small, at least. Barely there at all.

Forcing their hands down again, they focus on the walk. This part of the city’s - quiet, by the city’s standards. There are gaps between the people, empty spaces to walk. They like it here. The sky is dark and the concrete is chipped and the lights around flicker and buzz with the death throes of neon but it’s something like calm.

And the library is best of all.

It’s an old building, still brick, the windows still glass (where they haven’t been roughly boarded over). The sign overhead is still in just black lettering against the brick, a spelling error hastily crossed out with red paint and never fixed. The shelves inside are old, too, filled with ancient yellowing books, and it’s quiet and mostly empty and nobody gets mad at them for sitting in between the shelves with piles of books from when the building opens to when it closes. Nobody even really seems to notice them. It’s--safe, in a way few other places are. And the books are safe, and the pages talk about things that don’t exist in the city, and it’s a little like being somewhere else.

But today, they push through the shelves, heading for the section in the back. This area’s a little better used - the equipment’s old, maybe, but it works for what it’s made for. A row of wooden chairs is filled with people, sitting calmly, eyes closed, thin white cables plugged into the machinery behind them.

They find an empty seat, settle down, trying to get comfortable, and pick up the cable’s end with fingers that are shaking only a little.

They consider, one last time.

_“You sure about this, kid?” the man had said, dubiously. “For what you have, I can’t get you much. Best you can afford doesn’t run with the current specs - you won’t be able to do much, and there’s some vulnerabilities in these that aren’t patched out. If you can save up a bit more, I can get you something that at least hits the baselines.”_

_But they’d shaken their head, knowing that if they held onto their little pile of credits any longer, someone will find out and take it. Saving for more would take months, even if they were lucky, and they--_

_They didn’t have it in them to make it that long._

_The man had shrugged. “Well, far be it from me to turn away a customer.” He’d rummaged under the counter, picking up a little white cube, holding it up to the light. “What’s the rush, though? Terminals not enough?”_

_They hadn’t been able to say, then, just lowering their head until the man shrugged again and lead them to the back._

_It had hurt. But not for long._

The pin at the end of the cable slides into the port with a satisfying click.

There’s a lurch in their chest, like they’re falling, drowning, they can’t breathe--

\-- _pain pain pain something in their head and they are splitting apart_ \--

\--something soft meets their hands. The pain fades, like it never was at all.

They blink a few times, look around. All around them is -- gold, a vibrant gold, a brilliant shade of yellow that almost hurts to look at. It takes a few seconds for them to be able to figure out that what they’re looking at is flowers, dozens, with broad yellow petals and brilliant green stems.

They’ve seen flowers, here and there. A handful of dandelions in cracks in the roads, a few bundles beyond the forcefield windows of stores, drawings in books. They’ve never seen anything like this.

They reach out to stroke a petal, noting almost idly that their hand looks simpler somehow, smoothed out, less real than the flower they’re touching. It doesn’t bother them, really. The flower still feels real beneath their touch. They can smell something sharp and sweet and wonderful all around them. From far above, a beam of light is casting warmth onto them, and they realize with a sharp shock that it’s the sunlight of a cloudless day.

Sitting there in a bed of gold, Frisk folds their knees to their chest and gives one brief sob.

It was true. It was all true. It was all worth it.

Here, they can see the sun.

\---

It’s a long time later when they finally push themselves to their feet. Movement feels strange, still. They feel a little too light for their body, and sometimes it seems like parts of them take a bit too long to react to their instructions. Still, as they walk down the path in front of them they slowly get the hang of walking, one foot in front of the other.

They seem to be on a path through a valley, mountains rising high above to either side. Scattered on the mountainsides are what could be the ruins of ancient structures, all white marble and tumbled columns. The sunlight comes through in slanted rays, turning anything it touches gold. They can hear the distant cries of birds, the rush of the wind. It all seems -- real, or better. Perfect.

There are no more of those flowers beyond the patch they left - at first. Finally, though, they see one ahead of them in the middle of the pathway, surprisingly out of place against the red-brown dirt.

It’s even more surprising when it starts talking, a chirpy voice that sounds just a little tinny and artificial. “Howdy! I’m Flowey, Flowey the Flower, your helpful guide to Alternate Reality Simulation! I’m here to help you get your bearings in this wonderful new world!” The flower smiles, a simple expression across the center of its petals. “Are you ready to begin your journey?”

Frisk blinks, but nods. They suppose it made sense - a tutorial, a guide. And the flower seems nice, in the canned way of any program.

“Great!” The flower - Flowey - grins all the more. “First things first, then, I need you to accept the permission request that pops up! That’ll let me help out as you go along, okay?”

Before Frisk can react, a rectangle appears in their field of view, standing out against the simulated landscape. It’s full of text, ACCEPT and REJECT written across the bottom. They skim the text - a request for partial control permissions. For a moment, they wonder why a tutorial needs extra permissions. But surely the tutorial won’t do anything dangerous?

They reach out, hit ACCEPT.

And Flowey - flickers. He’s still grinning, but it looks anything but friendly now, all teeth and black, staring eyes superimposed over the gold flower. Jarring. Wrong.

“You idiot,” he says, the artificial edge gone with his voice and replaced with a grating sound like metal over metal. “First you log in with an unpatched implant, and then you hand over permissions to the first thing to ask? How could I pass up this opportunity?”

Frisk steps back, shaking, but then pain flares through their head and they buckle to their knees. Something is pulsing in their skull, pounding, and there’s something like a tug in their chest and a knot forming in their throat and they can’t breathe again and they are certain, then, that they are dying.

Against the blackness of their own closed eyes, they see more text.

*** Revoking permissions.**

The pain ebbs to a dull memory. The tugging sensation stops. The knot clears.

Flowey glares, but he looks more confused than anything else. “How--” he begins.

But then there are footsteps, ahead on the path, and with an annoyed little noise Flowey flickers and disappears.

A woman is approaching. She’s tall, is the first thing Frisk notices from their position on their knees on the rocky ground. Then they note the white fur, the soft, long ears, the slight curve of horns. She’s not human, at least not here. But still, even with the monstrous curve of her muzzle and the intimidating height, all Frisk can see in her eyes is concern.

Still, they hesitate. Cringe back.

“Oh dear,” the woman murmurs, crouching a little. “Please do not worry. I mean you no harm. Are you alright now?”

Frisk hesitates, then manages a nod. The pain is vanishing to nothing again. Slowly, they manage to stand.

The woman smiles. “Oh, good. I am Toriel, moderator of the Ruins hub, and I noticed a new visitor arriving. I am very sorry that you had such an awful first encounter here, truly. If you would like, I’d love to give you a proper tu-Toriel.” She giggles at her own joke, and Frisk manages to relax a little more. “If you have the time? It is so rare to see new players here, and I could help you to learn how to keep yourself safe."

Frisk hesitates, for a moment, then nods.

“Wonderful.” Toriel smiles, walking along ahead, checking back to ensure that Frisk is following.

There’s - something new, now, Frisk notices when they start walking. A golden line, trailing after Toriel. A small box in the corner of their vision with a map. Another, smaller box with an icon with a flower. Curious, they prod at the last one as they walk, and a new window opens.

*** Greetings.**

*** I am your personal companion AI, here to assist you with any problems you may have.**

*** Do you have any questions at this time?**

They pause, uncertain, then relax. The terminals all have menus and guides and things - of course ARS does too. That it talks the way it does, in plain English, is unexpected, but then, everything about ARS is unexpected.

The window is still open, waiting, and they shake their head with a little smile. A second later, the window snaps back to the little flower (not like the one Flowey was, they note with a bit of relief).

“Coming?” Toriel calls, and they nod and follow her on.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Frisk explores on their own, makes new friends, and has new feelings.

The walk is nice, really.

The sun never moves from its position over the hills - always just starting to crest (or set?), turning everything golden where it falls. They pick their way around ruined pillars, over little seating areas of white marble. Toriel leads the way, checking back regularly to make sure that Frisk is still following.

Finally, in the distance, they see something else. Wide marble stairs - nearly fully intact - leading up to giant doors set in the side of the hill. The doors are marked with swirling patterns and elegant shapes and, in the center, a complicated rune. It’s beautiful, imposing.

Toriel turns again, smiling a little when she sees them. “This is the central area of the ruins, my child,” she says, starting to walk again. “Most other players you will see congregate here. There are… not many, here, of late, but the ones who remain are kind.”

Frisk nods, still staring at the doors. It’s funny. They’ve seen plenty of skyscrapers and the like, but somehow the doors still seem taller than anything they’ve ever seen.

As they draw closer, the white marble doors part, slowly, with a creak. Beyond, the light is dimmer, but still somehow a muted gold. The walls are white stone, forming a long, long corridor lined with cracked statues and emptied fountains. It looks like pictures Frisk has seen in history books, but -- larger. Grander.

“Elegant, is it not?” Toriel says, just ahead. Her paws are silent on the marble. “It may not have some of the conveniences of other areas, but I have always had a fondness for this place.” She smiles, soft and loving. “I am glad to see that you like it as well.”

Frisk nods eagerly, matching her pace. They think they like the area outside more - the sun through the trees, the gentle winding path - but this is beautiful.

And Toriel’s here, smiling at them, and that’s a new kind of nice.

Toriel outright beams when they nod. “I am very, very glad. I will be happy to show you around for as long as you like - as I said, there are very few players here. I would be honored to be the one to show you the ropes.”

Frisk nods, again, more firmly.

They don’t know how to place the feeling in their chest, but it’s--good. Clear. Even with the flower, right now they feel more comfortable in their skin than they have in a long time.

Toriel smiles a moment more, then pauses. “Oh, dear, just as I said that…” She sighs, heavily. “I have a tiny issue to take care of further ahead. Would you mind exploring alone for just a very short while? Or you can remain here, of course, but I promise the path is safe.” She glances over at Frisk. “Nobody here will try to hurt you, and if anything does trouble you, simply message me and I will be there in moments. I promise."

Frisk hesitates, draws back. There's still an edge of uncertainty. The flower is still around. But--

But Toriel has something to take care of, and things have to be safe if she says they’re safe. And so they nod.

Toriel nods, straightening. “My home is at the edge of the area - if you simply walk along, you will surely see it. And if you need me at any time, simply message me and I will come.” She pauses. “Oh, but it would be easier if…”

The flower-icon menu expands into a little box. It’s worryingly familiar, but the text is different.

*** Toriel would like to add you to her Contacts List! If you accept, you will be able to see each others' online status and location on the map. Accept?**

They don’t hesitate in pressing accept.

(They notice, in passing, that ‘reject’ looked grayed out anyways.)

Toriel beams at them one last time. “Then be good until I see you next,” she says, and then she’s - gone, in a little blast of white light.

Frisk stares at the spot where she was, for a while, then looks ahead down the corridor.

The golden line traces a path down its center.

They start to walk.

\---

The corridor opens onto another corridor, this one heading right. Low marble bridges cross over channels of running water, the sound pleasant. Frisk takes their time walking, still enjoying the sights and sounds of everything, only half-focusing on the gold-marked path.

Which is how they end up nearly running into another player.

They barely manage to stop themselves, looking up. The player’s more human-looking than Toriel, wearing a green hooded cloak with what Frisk notices look almost like a pair of eyes on top. The figure underneath is shadowy, just its eyes really visible.

Frisk backs away a step, mumbling an apology under their breath. They can feel their cheeks burning, and they hope that they’re not visibly blushing on their avatar.

The other player bends a bit, blinking (and the cloak eyes blink too, Frisk notes). They say -- something, but whatever language it is, Frisk doesn’t speak it, and they can feel a bit of panic starting to form now because the other player is blocking the bridge and they don’t know what they’re saying--

The flower icon expands again.

" *** That’s a classic avatar, is it not?**

 *** It has been a while since I have seen that. It looks good on you, though.** "

Frisk blinks, a few times, then manages a smile. “Thank you! But I think you’re much cuter than I am.”

A pause, then Frisk sees a hint of a smile before the player talks.

" *** I think my translator is having issues, but thank you.**

 *** Have fun exploring, alright?** "

The player steps aside, and Frisk gives them one more smile and wave before moving on. That wasn’t so bad, and the knot of anxiety is slowly unpicking itself. Working through a translator is complicated, maybe, but at least the people they’re talking to are nice.

The path continues in much the same way, from there. There are archways, and winding marble mini-mazes, and long paths along canals. As Toriel had stated, the area is nearly empty. Here and there Frisk sees clumps of players in those cloaks - sometimes in different colors or patterns, but roughly the same - all talking to each other animatedly. Once another player in a white dress and white wings starts to approach them, then backs away, looking vaguely terrified, and Frisk calls words of condolence after them but isn’t sure they’re heard.

A player sits motionless in one corner of a larger chamber, and Frisk waves to them. After a few long moments, the player waves back.

A meaningful conversation, they decide with a bit of a grin.

They’re missing the constant conversation with Toriel, a little, but they are enjoying the walk. It’s peaceful, calm. It’s nice to walk down a corridor without the rush of traffic whizzing by feet away, without the blinding glare of neon, without…

They push aside the thoughts. They’re here, now. They’re here, and nowhere else.

They walk through another corridor - and pause. There’s a branch, this time. One path leads straight ahead, while the other bends to the right. The golden line leads down the straight path, they note, and they take the first step in that direction before pausing again.

From the right-hand path, there’s the distant notes of music.

The text box reopens. *** Now leaving the path to your designated goal.**

They roll their eyes a bit. Toriel had said the ruins were safe, after all (and she’s probably still busy, anyways, not ready for them to arrive). It doesn’t hurt to explore, especially when they can hear music. (Especially when they’re meant to be waiting.)

After a moment, the text box closes.

The music gets louder as they walk, developing a beat. It’s not loud like the music Frisk hears from open doors and cars sometimes, the head-throbbing bass that makes them recoil and draw closer to the walls. It’s - bouncier, they think might be the word? They don’t recognize a lot of the instruments, but they think they catch horns, maybe piano.

Finally they emerge into a large, half-dark room lined with pillars. At the opposite end is a table covered with spinning discs and blinking little lights. And at the table--

\--Frisk fights back the urge to giggle, because it looks like someone’s draped a sheet over empty air and drawn eyes and a mouth on it. And then put a pair of headphones on it all. It’s weirdly cute.

The sheet-person perks up when Frisk enters. “Oh… someone came?” Their voice is soft, quiet, tricky to make out over the music.

They frown, then pause and jab at the little flower icon. A moment later, the text box opens, reprinting what the person had said.

“ *** Um, welcome to the event…… Sit down if you want, or stand……… Either way……** ”

Frisk is not entirely certain that there are meant to be this many dots in a transcription, but it seems fitting.

They settle down against the wall by the table, looking up at the sheet, who looks down at them. “ *** So do you…… like these tunes……?** ”

They nod, enthusiastically. The beat still has them tapping their foot, even now that they’re sitting.

“ *** Oh…… good…… I have shows once a week, but…… usually nobody comes………** ”

Frisk thinks about the thin population they’ve seen, about the odd location of the show. What they decide to say, though, is “I think you’re really good!”

“ *** Oh gee…………** ” The sheet sinks a little bit lower.

Frisk pauses, considers.

“Also, I think you’re really cute.”

The sheet sinks further, and Frisk swears that the white turns a bit redder. “ *** Um…… I’d just weigh you down……… Let’s focus on the tunes…………** ”

Frisk pouts a bit, but nods, leaning back to relax and close their eyes and listen. The songs go on, flowing into each other, catchy and clever and never overwhelming them. There’s just them, and the DJ, and safety.

They settle, then, on a name for the new feeling they’re having - the clearness in their head, the confidence about talking to people, the safety that lets them relax like this around someone else.

Contentment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always to my lovely cowriters/beta readers/people who i yell at
> 
> like 90% of this entire thing is directly inspired by Experiences I've Had On Second Life


End file.
